Something Like Control
by Dustbunny3
Summary: Oneshot. Stakeshipping. Bandit Keith goes to a grimy bar to forget his troubles, but there are other ways


Disclaimer: Dustbunny does not own _Yu-Gi-Oh!_ and doesn't intend to step on any toes or infringe any copyrights with this story. It is a work of fanfiction, and not even a very good one at that. No profit is made-- not that it could be-- with this piece

A/N: Yet another entry in Computerfreak101s fanfiction contest, and likely the one that be the end of me. Not really much to say, as this is a pretty short peice. It's meant to take place some time after Battle City but before Mai gets recruited by Dartz, and is unbeta'd because I'm an indecisive idot and waited until the last moment to scrap what I had and replace it with... this. This is really, really not my couple. It's probably asking too much, but: Please enjoy

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_This is me in control…_

The bar was almost as dark as the starless night and twice as dirty as the alley that led off to it, but Keith couldn't find it in him to care one way or another. It wasn't as though he needed light to get drunk, and he planned to be drinking straight from the bottle. Thus reassured, he dropped heavily onto one of the creaky barstools, satisfied himself that it wasn't about to collapse, and slammed down money for a drink as he snapped his order at the broad, hairy bartender. No sooner had his drink been placed in front of him that it was gone and he was ordering another.

"Yeah?" Keith asked petulantly of the bartended, who was eyeing him like something that he might once have scraped off the bottom f his shoe; the nameless man turned away without a word, and made a point of calling for another drink as soon as quickly as he could without choking on the one he had.

A warm, relaxed feeling washed over Keith with the grimy taste of the cheap beer, and he welcomed it. Never mind that he'd have to be bodily thrown from the place by the time he was through, or that he'd likely have embarrassed himself many times over by then. Even weeks after he'd been brainwashed or hypnotized or... taken over, he was having nightmares. Nightmares! A grown man who hadn't dreamt since childhood being kept up at night by things that should have been struck from his mind long ago. Worse, they weren't restricted to sleep; throughout the day he would see things and hear thing that were there. Well, no more. If his mind was going to be out of whack it would be because that's how he wanted it.

Nodding at no one, he raised his next bottle to himself before draining it-- only to choke on a mouthful as he caught sight of tightly pursed lips, a wrinkled nose and a pair of narrowed violet eyes settled appealingly beneath a mane of golden blonde hair. Of all the people he could run into in a dump like this--

"Imagine running into you, Mai."

She looked up sharply at the slurred sound of her name, and for just a moment she looked panicked-- she hadn't planned to run into anyone she knew here, had even planned against it. But the look was gone a moment later, replaced by one of resigned loathing; after a few moments' hesitation, she strutted over to him like a model down a catwalk and settled easily into the stool beside his, which whined ominously as it took on her weight.

"Bandit Keith. Give me a moment while I try to be shocked to find you here."

"You should have shown up earlier," he grinned in a way that he no doubt thought was charming. "If I were sober I'd be shocked enough for both of us. What's a classy lady like you hangin' around a dump like this for?"

It was with great effort that she kept from rolling her eyes, instead saying coolly, "It's none of your business where I go."

Leaning in close and giving her an unapologetically sleazy grin, he said, "It could be."

Mai paused, appearing to think it over. This was a bad idea, and she knew it. But it would be her bad idea, her bad decision. It would be havoc played gleefully on her senses and on her mind that were her own fault. She wasn't drunk and she wasn't dreaming, yet this would be a nightmare that she could wake up and walk away from with an ease that didn't come from those memories that refused to be buried. She blinked to see Keith so close, so in danger of toppling over onto her; in the back of her mind, she doubted the stool she was on could take the pressure. With a derisive laugh, she pushed him back, dragging her nails suggestively down his chest as she did so, and slid off the stool and sauntered away from him and out the door, swinging her hips just enough to let him know that she would not be opposed to him following her.

Finishing off the rest of his drink in one gulp, he stalked unevenly out the door in her wake.

_This is me in control_…

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Praise appreciated, concrit treasured, flames raspberried


End file.
